in my heart's the memory (there you'll always be)
by Sang-Argente
Summary: Now, he wonders if it was his fault. If he had given some sort of signal to Allison. Some sign of 'I only like you because you're dating my best friend'. He hopes not, but wouldn't be surprised if it was true.


After it's all over, the danger passed and the dust settled, it's quiet. Everyone is silent in their disbelief, their grief, their sorrow. Chris leaves, makes his way to France for some soul searching or self realizing or whatever. No one is really sure and no one really cares enough to question. Isaac disappears into the darkness, unable to handle another loss after such a short time. Kira wears an apologetic expression constantly, her eyes dark and sorry as she clings to Scott's side, as if carrying him through the endless heartache. Lydia keeps her arms wrapped tight around herself as she moves silently, too terrified to let go or say anything, like the slightest movement or sound will make her collapse. Scott drags his feet and walks slowly, a permanent weight settling on him, nearly the same heaviness he had held that night.

It hurts to watch. It hurts to see everyone lost in their thoughts, living in their mourning. It aches and throbs deep within Stiles, in a place that he can't reach or soothe. If he were honest, he would say that it's the same place where the Nogitsune lived inside him. A dark, chaotic chink of his mind where only the most hurtful of memories were kept. The thoughts full of pain and regret. It's there, inside him and no one else, because there is no one else to carry it. It's his fault, even if none of the others say it out loud. They don't need to. He knows.

He goes back to school with the rest, follows them throughout their days like a shadow. Always there yet never really acknowledged. He watches as they move forward, as they wake up a little bit more every day. As time goes by, they speak more, a little less quiet and a little less and a little less until all the silence is replaced with words, with voices, with conversation.

Scott puts all his focus on lacrosse and comes alive at practice, shining and bright underneath the afternoon sun. The more time he spends doing drills and runs and plays, the more he lightens. He stretches up in the sunlight, no longer slumped under the weight of darkness. He smiles quicker and laughs louder. It's nice.

Lydia loosens slowly and walks heavier. The loud clicks of heel on tile become one of Stiles's favorite sounds. It reminds him that Lydia is improving just as much as Scott. She moves fluidly and with intent. She speaks loudly, in sharp sentences with harsh words. The louder she gets, the more she bends the world around her to her will. It's what Stiles used to love most about her and what he was afraid had been lost.

Kira is shy and quiet longer than the rest of them, but Stiles thinks it's less of an after-effect and more of her natural personality. There are times when she is excited, bubbly almost, grinning and giggling. She usually shares those times with Scott, an answer to their delicate relationship. She laughs and he grins and they kiss. It's all very sweet.

But even as everyone comes out of their heads and into their lives, talking and talking and talking, no one says anything about Allison.

No one says Allison's name. No one talks about how she figured out the solution to their little Oni problem. No one says anything about her empty chair at the lunch table. No one mentions the space next to Lydia at lacrosse games.

There's nothing said about her skills or her looks or even that time she snorted milk out of her nose at lunch when Scott told one of his stupid jokes.

Stiles hates it.

He hates how he was the one who caused her death. How it was his body that acted as a vessel for the most dangerous monster they'd ever come up against. How it was his stupidity, his insecurity, his weakness that made it possible for the Nogitsune to control him.

But most of all he hates how all the people closest to Allison don't seem to miss her.

It makes his sorrow seem selfish.

After all, he only knew Allison as an extension of Scott, of Lydia. He didn't love her like Chris, like Isaac. He was barely even friends with her. Not because she was a bad person, or because he didn't think she was worth it, but simply because of reality. Their only link was Scott and, when Allison was alive, that was okay. Stiles didn't think anything of it because that was just how it was.

Now, he wonders if it was his fault. If he had given some sort of signal to Allison. Some sign of _I only like you because you're dating my best friend_. He hopes not, but wouldn't be surprised if it was true.

The first cycle through all of these thoughts make him wonder about all the other people in Allison's life outside of their little circle. Her family, her classmates, her hunter friends. He wonders if they know, wonders if anyone has told them. He wonders how many are left and comes to the conclusion of a frighteningly small number.

Two weeks after that night, he calls London. It's tiring and expensive, but worth it.

"_Hello?"_

"_Jackson?"_

"_Who is this?"_

"_It's...it's Stiles."_

"_Stilinski? What do you want?"_

"_I just...I didn't know if you had heard from anybody lately. Anybody here, I mean."_

"_No, Lydia doesn't call anymore. Why?"_

"_Jackson...it's about Allison."_

"_What about Allison? Is she okay? What did McCall do?"_

"_She's dead, Jackson."_

"_..."_

"_I'm so sorry. I just thought...you were her friend. You deserved to know."_

"_..."_

"_I'll let you go. I'm sorry I called."_

"_Wait!"_

"_..."_

"_Stiles...thanks. I mean, thanks for thinking of me."_

"_Like I said, you were her friend."_

"_Yeah..."_

"_..."_

"_Look, if you ever need anything-"_

"_Goodbye, Jackson. Have a nice life."_

It makes him feel like he was doing something. Something other than living smothered in his guilt. It sort of shrinks the hole in his chest, smooths the jagged edges where he felt he'd been put back together wrong after the Nogitsune. He can suddenly breathe a little easier, sleep a little deeper, move a little faster.

Which is why, two weeks after the phone call to London, he finds himself standing outside the Beacon Hills Hospice. Everything in him is screaming to leave, to forget, to ignore. But he knows it wouldn't be right. Despite all the things that has happened, Gerard deserved to know what happened to his granddaughter.

"_Mr. Stilinski, I must admit I'm surprised to see you here. Not even my own son visits."_

"_He's in France. That makes it a little difficult to stop by."_

"_France? He didn't mention he was thinking of moving."_

"_It was sudden."_

"_Very well. What are you here for, Mr. Stilinski? Or did you just come to gloat?"_

"_No...I can't say I'm happy to see you alive, but this isn't about you. It's about Allison."_

"_What about my granddaughter?"_

"_She's dead, Gerard."_

"_..."_

"_I'm sorry."_

"_..."_

"_I'll just go."_

There are many other things he could say to the man, thinks of saying to him. All the questions he needs answers to, all the insults he wants to fling at him. They no place in this visit. It had only been about Allison, after all.

But between one breath and the next, there is a small part of him that wants nothing more than to tear the man apart. To make him feel the same pain he had made Stiles feel. To give him a much more painful death than Allison had suffered. As if killing Gerard would bring her back.

It is only a second because the next has Stiles parked on the side of the road, leaning out of his Jeep as he pukes up the small lunch his nerves had let him eat earlier that day. It goes on for a minute or ten or twenty, his stomach heaving and rolling as it purges all the nutrients within it. He'd be a bit more upset if it didn't feel like it was purging the dark thoughts also. Every heave comes with a lightened feeling, to the point were he wonders if he should be worried about floating away.

A few days after that disastrous visit, he makes his way to Derek's loft. He knows that Derek knows about Allison and is probably nursing an extra large order of survivor's guilt. It's just the way Derek is. That's okay. Stiles isn't here to see him anyway. He just doesn't know where to find Peter otherwise.

He can see in Peter's face that the werewolf knows why he's there.

"_She can't be brought back."_

"_You were."_

"_That took a lot of planning, Stiles, you know that."_

"_But it was mostly Lydia."_

"_Do you really want to put her through that again?"_

"_..."_

"_I'm truly sorry, Stiles. You know I would help you if I could."_

"_For a price."_

"_It would only be a small price. I like you."_

"_Isn't there anything I can do?"_

"_Breathe. Come to terms with the fact that it is your fault. Hope she's resting, wherever she ended up."_

Coming from Peter, his advice was surprisingly reassuring. Stiles is also relieved that someone else recognized his guilt. That is all he wants, in truth. It's not like he was looking for absolution.

Honestly, he isn't sure what he's looking for, if anything. He just knows that something is missing. He goes to school and to lacrosse practice and to a quiet job he picked up at the bookstore two streets over from the police station. He talks to Scott and to Lydia and to Kira, occasionally. He spends time with his dad, cooking for him and sitting next to him and interrupting his investigations. He does everything he can think of to say _I'm here I'm fine I'm sorry_ without actually saying the words.

A month passes.

It's the middle of Christmas vacation and there's cold dry leaves cracking underneath Stiles's feet as he tramples around in the preserve. It's one of those rare days he has to himself, no obligations or expectations. Scott is off somewhere with Kira and his dad is at work and there's not a single other person that cares what he might be up to in the thick trees. It's peaceful.

He's just starting to wonder if he should turn around to head back home when he hears it. It's his name. It's being called over and over again, coming at him from all directions in a painfully familiar voice. It takes all of the power in him to not look up. He keeps on his way, stepping heavier to crunch the leaves harder and snap the twigs louder. He refuses to pay any attention to the voice.

Until it changes.

Instead of just his name, he hears something else just to the left of him.

"Damn it, Stiles, I thought if anyone would hear me it would be you!"

And he can't help himself. He twists around quickly, his whole body swinging as he searches for the voice. He's half hopeful and half resigned, but when he finally sees her he's nothing but surprised.

"Allison?!"

Because she is there, right next to him. She's wearing the same outfit from that night, but there's no bow in her hand or quiver on her back or knife in her stomach. For a moment, Stiles wonders if any of that actually happened, if maybe it's just any other day. Then he realizes her edges are fuzzy and, if he looks closely, he can see right through her and into the trees behind her.

He finally looks at her face, ready to be confronted with hateful eyes and a mouth that's nothing more than a hard line of resentment. The smile that is stretching her lips is jarring and painful, in the way unexpected things always are.

She looks at him with happiness, more than she ever did in her life.

"I'm so glad I found you! I've been trying to talk to everyone in town, but no one can hear me."

"I'm not even sure I'm hearing you. Or seeing you. I might be hallucinating you."

"You're not, I promise. I remember everything and I've been around since then so I've seen everything else."

Stiles crosses his arms, plucking at a loose thread on his sleeve with one hand while the other is kept in a tight fist. He doesn't really think she's here, but he goes along with her just in case.

"Why can I hear you?"

"I think...maybe it's because you're the one who needs to hear me the most?"

"What about Scott? Your dad? Lydia?"

"I said everything I needed to Scott before I died. I can't reach Dad, I can't even leave Beacon Hills. Even if Lydia could hear me, I don't think she would listen. For someone who's been around so much of the supernatural, she's still very skeptical."

He grins because how can he not? Allison is here and she's rolling her eyes and she's saying the same thoughts he's had about Lydia. He shrugs at the questioning look on her face.

"It's good to see you, Allison. In whatever way."

She blushes and her grin widens as she tucks her hair behind her ears.

"Yeah...listen, since you're the only one who can hear me, you must be the only person I need to talk to."

He agrees. This is the first time he's ever been contacted by a ghost, if that is even what Allison is, but there's enough information to create a solution. He ignores all the _why him why her why now_ questions he has and moves on. Allison wouldn't have the answers anyway.

"So what do you want to talk about?"

"You. And me, in a way. I think you should know that it's not your fault that I died. I know you think you were weak, that there has to be something wrong with you, that that's why the Nogitsune took over you. But it's not true. And when it did take over you, it's actions belonged to it, even if the body didn't."

She steps closer, her hand reaching out for him. He can't move or even turn his head away. The sight of her is too much to ignore. As her hand lands on his cheek, he can feel a strange chill spreading through him.

"I don't blame you, Stiles. I knew when I became a hunter that it would be dangerous. But I did it anyway. It was my choice."

She keeps speaking and the cold keeps growing. His limbs are locked in place and his heart is slowing. He thinks he would be frightened if Allison wasn't here with him. She leans in and brushes his cheek with her nose, her hand dropping as her lips replace it.

"_Nous protégeons ceux qui ne peuvent pas se protéger eux-mêmes_. Remember me, Stiles."

And he is alone.

The trees are still and the air is silent. Nothing makes a sound except for the leaves under his feet and the heart in his chest. It sounds louder and feels stronger. This is a new day.

Another month passes. Two months. Three.

He stops following Scott and Kira and Lydia. He steps in time with them now, his feet falling with theirs. He excels in his classes and flails on the lacrosse field. Sometimes he does it just to see the pinched look on Finstock's face. He stays close to his dad, closer than before but not smothering. He stretches his days thin and keeps them busy with anything that comes to mind. There isn't anything missing anymore.

He still isn't sure if Allison was a dream or a hallucination or even just a passing thought. It doesn't matter. She was with him and now every night he hears the same thing.

"_Remember me, Stiles."_

And so he does, in the only way he can.

He lives.

* * *

**A/N: So this was a bit of a fix-it fic for myself. I think it's sad that no one mentions Allison on the show anymore and I'm positive that Stiles would have some guilt over what happened. If you agree, you can come find me on tumblr at stilesthesasswolf.  
**

**Please review!**

**~S.**


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